Spending time in the mountains as a guide or outdoor professional offers a kind of perspective that is hard to find elsewhere. When you are not just moving through a landscape, but having to pay close attention to it, watching the subtle shifts in a glacier, noticing how storms roll over Mount Shasta, or feeling the changing rhythm of the seasons. In this, you begin to notice patterns (not answers or conclusions), just observations. Small, quiet details that add up over time and become part of a story we are fortunate to witness if we are willing to slow down and look.
I remember my first climb on Pico de Orizaba in Mexico, working as a shadow guide and learning the route. As part of that process, I began marking points along the way. These were usually practical notes, places to slow down, specific hazards to watch for in areas, or spots where the route splits in confusing ways. One of those points was at the base of the Jamapa Glacier.
Over the years, I have returned to that same peak many times and marked that same point each time. I did not intend for it to become a record of change, but it is now clear that the glacier has shifted significantly during that period. It is a tangible change I have personally recorded, trip after trip. Whether this is normal in a geological sense, I do not know. It is simply what I have seen and tracked.
While it is true that mountains have always changed, what has been standing out to me more and more is how storms seem to move differently than they did when I was a child. I once hoped for clear skies so I could head out to my local ski areas, Mount Ashland or Shasta Ski Park. Now it seems, I find myself hoping for storms to arrive.
More often than not, we are seeing heavy storms that drop large amounts of snow in very short periods of time. Growing up, I remember storms that lasted longer, with shorter breaks between them. The difference is not just nostalgia. It’s clear when you spend enough time out there, season after season.
As an avalanche educator, I understand the effects of this shift can be striking and at times concerning. Mount Shasta has experienced multiple extremely large and destructive avalanches in the last decade, events once considered rare and unlikely. Is this directly connected to the way storms have changed? We cannot say for certain at this time, but it is possible. What I do know is that the timing, intensity, and frequency of storms now seem to produce larger and more pronounced avalanche cycles than I remember from my youth. Guides often witness these patterns firsthand because our work places us directly in these environments, day after day.
It is not just the snow itself, but the interaction between storms, terrain, and time. A heavy storm followed by long stretches of clear skies creates very different conditions than a slow, steady accumulation spread over several days, even if the total snowfall ends up being the same. The way snow is layered over time influences how it behaves. That interaction affects avalanches, glaciers, and how the mountains respond as a whole. Sometimes the changes are subtle and prolonged over a long period of time. Other times, they are more dramatic and rapid in nature.
From town, a sunny winter day might feel like a gift. In the mountains, that same day can have a large impact on the snowpack, glaciers, and the broader ecosystem. These shifts can carry both immediate consequences and long-term effects.
I am not trying to make predictions or political statements. I am simply sharing what I have seen, what I have measured, and what feels different now compared to when I was a child. Glaciers are changing, seasons are shifting, and the mountains are showing us these changes as they happen. These are observations, facts of experience, and pieces of a much larger story the mountains are continuing to tell.
I do not claim to know what it all means for the world at large. However, for those of us who work, and guide in these places, it feels worth paying attention. Worth reflecting on, worth allowing these observations to spark conversation, curiosity, and a deeper respect for the landscapes we move through every day.
Written By Caleb Burns